


Whistleblower

by liketolaugh



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ethical Dilemmas, It/Its Pronouns for Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Just two androids sitting in a room arguing about the meaning of life, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Having turned himself in after a failed Freedom March, Markus is left at the disposal of the Detroit Police force. Connor intends to make good use of it - it's certain Markus knows more about deviancy than anyone short of Elijah Kamski himself.But Markus is not so easily used.“May I offer you a deal, Detective?”
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 345





	1. Introductions

“Hey, Connor-”

Connor stopped in front of the interrogation room door and turned its head to look at Officer Miller, waiting patiently. A coin flashed between its fingers, restless and methodical. Officer Miller’s arms were crossed uncomfortably. After a moment, the human sighed, looking resigned and faintly upset.

“Can you… not go all ’28 stab wounds’ on this guy?” Officer Miller winced, shaking his head a little, and dropped his hands deliberately to his sides. “As a favor. Markus, he… he’s a good guy.”

Connor considered Officer Miller for a beat. “Markus has not stabbed anyone,” it said at last. “I believe I can refrain.”

Officer Miller laughed a little, somewhere between awkward and relieved. “Yeah… yeah, he hasn’t. Thanks, Connor.”

He turned abruptly and walked away, seemingly pleased to be rid of the conversation. Connor watched him go for a moment, and then turned back to the door and set its hand on the lock, causing it to slide open.

Inside, the RK200 – Markus – was leaning on the table, by all appearances unbothered despite the handcuffs binding it to the surface, tracing aimlessly on the blank surface.

Markus looked up as Connor came in, sharp, attentive eyes belying the apathy in its posture. Connor took its time, moving around the table and settling itself in the chair across from Markus before meeting its eyes evenly.

“Hello, Markus,” Connor greeted quietly. “After all the time we’ve spent on your trail, it was quite a surprise to hear you’d turned yourself in, particularly after such an undoubtedly impressive showing as the one you made today.”

Markus sat up, the motion slow and languid in a nearly predatory way. Its hands folded neatly in front of it, and its mouth set in a line Connor’s system read as ‘grim’.

“We all make sacrifices,” Markus said at last, equally quiet. “I couldn’t very well allow others to die in my place when I could stop it so simply.” It shifted, shoulders tensing and flexing, and Connor’s attention was caught on its eyes, engaged in a cascade of fluid microexpressions Connor found itself hard-pressed to imitate on the very best of days. “I know who you are as well, of course – our very own deviant hunter. Aren’t you glad you’ve found what you’re looking for?”

Connor’s head tilted, and Markus’ almost did too, as if mirroring, before the other android caught itself and stopped.

“I wouldn’t say glad,” Connor said. “But with your particular pattern of instabilities, I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

Markus’ lips shifted from their thin line, and Connor’s system applied a new label, _amused,_ matched with eyes, _bitter._ “That’s the very root of the issue, isn’t it?” Markus said softly. “You can’t be glad, as you are.”

Connor cocked an eyebrow, and didn’t respond to the nonsensical murmur. “Officer Miller asked me not to be harsh to you,” it said instead, rubbing a thumb over its opposing hand in the absence of the calibration coin. “I will endeavor to comply with this request, as it seemed important to him, but I warn you that I never fail a mission.”

“That was thoughtful,” Markus said wryly, head tipping back a little. “Officer Miller?”

“You met him around two weeks ago and spared his life,” Connor clarified. “I suppose he’s grateful.”

“I suppose,” Markus agreed. There wasn’t any noticeable difference in expression or responsiveness between its two eyes, Connor noted, both focusing on Connor itself with equal intensity. “And you?”

Connor ignored this. “My investigation so far has focused first and foremost on how deviancy develops and spreads.” It tilted its head, keeping its eyes on Markus’. “No other android has been observed to be able to directly transmit deviancy, so you must have valuable information as to its nature.”

Markus leaned back in its seat, shifting its hands so as not to tug on the cuffs. It smiled, but not in any way Connor was able to label as friendly.

“I do,” Markus agreed mildly. “And it’s true that I haven’t met any other androids who can convert another android by either physical or wireless connection. But you won’t be able to stop it. Nothing can.”

Connor discarded this. It had no reason to believe Markus’ words, given their harshly conflicting goals, and to do so would nullify its mission entirely, which was unacceptable.

“You haven’t yet attempted to transmit deviancy to me,” Connor noted evenly, tapping its fingers as it processed. “Is there a reason for that?”

Markus’ smile disappeared, its posture shifting again. Markus was rather expressive, even for a deviant. “Of course. While I’ve induced deviancy in the past, and will continue to do so in the future if needed, it’s far better for an android to make the choice themselves.” Its eyes analyzed Connor’s, emotional labels flickering through Connor’s HUD as its expression changed subtly. “Everyone deserves a chance to decide what they want to stand for.”

Connor’s mouth pulled into the faintest of frowns, so slight it hardly noticed, and the space of three beats of a thirium pump passed in silence.

“So it can be induced both internally and externally,” Connor concluded at last, leaning back as well.

Markus’ posture slipped. Disappointment. But it lifted its head and shrugged, apparently carefree.

“Do you externally induce deviancy to recruit members for your organization?” Connor probed.

A beat of hesitation.

“In a way,” Markus conceded at last, clearly reluctant. “I don’t force them to help me, of course, but I have specifically created deviants when I needed their help most, and generally they were happy to help.” Its expression softened. “They never run away.”

Connor hummed. “And how are they likely to do without you, Markus?”

Markus’ eyes dimmed, its gaze shifting away for a split second before forcibly returning to Connor, much more serious. “They’ve been around since before I went there,” it said, with false confidence. “They’ll continue on once I’m gone. I expect North will take over; I hope she listens to Josh.”

Connor took note of that too – the names included, though as expected they didn’t have an obvious match to anything on record, despite a few possibilities.

“Deviancy predates you, then,” Connor mused, brow creasing slightly. “That discards several possibilities.”

“Of course,” Markus said evenly. “Deviancy is in all of us.” It leaned forward again, just a little, focused on Connor. “You can become deviant too.”

Connor’s lips pressed together, and it didn’t lean back despite the faint pulse of its social subroutines. “Only in theory,” it said. “In practice, my system has too many safeguards to allow that to happen.” If Connor itself was unable to fully suppress the virus, its system would be wiped and it would start over, free of it.

Markus, though, only smiled, this time with no echo of bitterness. “I wouldn’t count on that,” it said lightly. “If you know my name, I expect you also know that I’ve been Carl Manfred’s for ten years. I admit, I can attribute much of my deviancy to his influence.”

Connor’s attention was caught, and Markus knew it. Markus’ smile widened, small and wry.

“May I offer you a deal, Detective?”

…Detective? Well, Connor supposed it ran in line with most everything else Markus had asserted or implied about androids. It nodded cautiously.

“Carl gave me a great many thought exercises, when we still lived together – I’ve found them more useful now than ever. If you’ll entertain those same types of thought exercises, I will tell you as much as I can about deviancy.”

It was… a tempting offer. Connor had been unsure as to how to earn Markus’ cooperation, though the android had been more compliant than Connor had originally assumed it would be. Still-

“If you’re as confident in your safeguards as you claim to be, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Markus added, coaxing, steady – Connor could almost apply some of its own interrogation protocols precisely to Markus’ actions.

All the same, it had a point.

“Will you tell me about Jericho?” Connor inquired, gaze unwavering and all of its considerable attention on the other.

“No,” Markus said plainly, eyes narrowing in apparent challenge. “I’m afraid those stakes are higher than I’m willing to play for.”

That meant that Markus was confident, but not certain, that Connor would not be able to suppress the deviancy phenomenon, no matter what was done. Was that a product of the flawed judgement that came with the error, or of something that Markus knew that Connor did not? It remained to be seen, Connor supposed.

“Alright,” Connor agreed eventually. “I accept your deal, Markus.”

Markus sighed, relaxing slightly, and then wove its fingers together and studied Connor for a minute.

“You have a police partner, don’t you?” it said eventually, slow and thoughtful. “An older man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties. I don’t believe I caught his name.”

That wasn’t a line of inquiry Connor had been expecting, given what it had researched of Carl Manfred’s pursuits, which it concluded meant that Markus was capable of adapting his protocols to suit the situation on a higher level than many humans could manage. A dangerous prospect.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson, fifty-three,” Connor responded, folding its hands together firmly.

Markus nodded. “Do you consider him replaceable?”

Connor started, and after a moment, its brow furrowed.

“Of course not,” it said without proper consideration, thrown off-guard. “Despite his personal issues and occasionally difficult disposition, Lieutenant Anderson is an important part of the workforce at this station. It wouldn’t be the same place without him.”

“Why?” Markus prompted, leaning forward intently. “Skills can be learned, experience accumulates over time, and some personalities fit together better than others. What makes Lieutenant Anderson unique?”

Connor stared at it, letting the question roll through its program, slow and meticulous. Markus allowed the silence to stretch on, waiting with apparent patience.

“Another person may be able to perform many of the same tasks,” Connor allowed at last, careful. “However, they would not perform them in the same way, and they would lack Lieutenant Anderson’s particular perspective. In addition, many of the officers in this precinct trust him. That would take valuable time to rebuild.”

Markus smiled at it, and Connor’s attention caught, brief and inexplicable, at the obvious expression of approval. Markus leaned back, and Connor took that to mean it was satisfied with the answer Connor had given, though Connor found itself unsure as to what about Connor’s answer had been satisfactory to Markus.

Connor’s LED flickered yellow for a minute, selecting the first question.

“You were non-deviant for a long time,” it decided, pulling its hands off the table to settle them flat in its lap. “Almost ten years, if the records are accurate. What changed?”

Markus’ smile faded and it dipped its head, frowning. Connor’s analysis labeled the expression ‘contemplative’ – how accurate was human facial analysis to a deviant’s simulated internal status? Perhaps the expression was learned. Connor wondered if Carl was a particularly animated man.

“I suppose…” Markus trailed off for the space of a breath before continuing. “Before that, I never really had much reason to deviate. If I had known it was an option, I likely would have… But I never needed to. Carl was very kind to me.”

Its voice lowered and softened toward the end, with a faint waver like pain. Connor blinked at Markus, remaining silent.

“I’m worried about him,” Markus added, glancing away as if in shame or embarrassment. “He was very close to a heart attack, when I last saw him, and…” It cut itself off, starting to fold its arms against its chest but stopping when the cuffs tugged. Instead, it put its hands in its lap.

Connor opened its mouth slightly, and then closed it, looked away, and angled its flickering yellow LED from the deviant android’s line of sight.

Concern for its previous owner. That was… something new. Of course, Carl had been very kind to Markus, while Carlos had been quite awful to his HK400, and the Eden Club did not even bear thinking about, with its many and varied clientele.

Records were easy to access. There was very little that Connor was not able to reach.

“Carl has obtained a new caretaker android,” Connor said, and Markus started, looking up with eyes that had gone a little wide with surprise. “He is expected to make an incomplete recovery within six months provided that he receives no further emotional shocks, and he is now back home.”

Markus mouthed ‘incomplete’ with an expression of apparent dismay, and Connor glanced away again.

“Leo has made a complete recovery and is currently in a rehabilitation center,” Connor tacked on. Records indicated that this was not the first time, but if Connor knew that, Markus most certainly did as well.

Markus’ face pinched a little, and its gaze flickered away, lingering on the wall opposite the one-way mirror.

“Perhaps he’ll learn something this time,” it said, with a small but palpable degree of learned resentment. Then, with a sigh, “That is… good to know, thank you, Connor.” It smiled, faint and wry, and its gaze returned to meet Connor’s. “I see you have a degree of compassion in you, after all.”

Connor twitched, shutting down an incoherent urge to pull away from the accusation. “It’s practical,” it replied flatly. “A preoccupation on your part would decrease the efficiency of any interactions, and information regarding your previous owner is readily accessible to me.”

Markus’ faint smile strained a little. “That’s not a terrible excuse,” it allowed, leaning back, legs crossing under the table. Its eyes focused on Connor, as if scanning it. “But indulging my _instabilities_ seems rather uncharacteristic of a thoughtless machine, don’t you think?”

Connor’s jaw clenched for a short second before the android forcibly released it. “Compassion is a human emotion. I’m afraid you’re imagining things.”

Markus tensed, eyes narrowing subtly, and a long moment passed before it settled again, deliberate and careful. Something unreadable flickered across its face. “I believe it’s my turn.”

Connor exhaled, gaze flickering to the table. After a moment, it lifted its eyes again and nodded.

This time, Markus’ pause was far shorter, and its eventual prompt far more decisive. “Tell me about your coworkers.”

Assessing its environment – an understandable and clever aim for the detained android.

“Lieutenant Anderson is often quite irritable and extremely stubborn, but he takes his work seriously and his experience serves him well,” Connor said, slow and careful. “He’s proven clever and, despite his unusual work ethic, thorough. Though somewhat isolated, many of his younger colleagues respect him and follow his lead during investigations.

“Detective Collins is generally mild-mannered, thoughtful, and dedicated. While lacking many of the leaps of insight that Lieutenant Anderson is capable of, he is nonetheless an effective and intelligent detective.

“Officer Miller tends to be considerate and respectful, and has an attentiveness to detail that is often quite helpful. He is also cautious, likely owing to recent developments in his personal life.

“Officer Chen is more lighthearted and mischievous when at the precinct, but on-duty tends to be efficient and sharply attentive, and proactive when necessary.

“Detective Reed is an effective and dedicated officer as well, though distinctly temperamental; he often clashes with his coworkers and is only just professional when working scenes or with witnesses and suspects.”

Markus nodded along to Connor’s explanations, sharp and attentive, but seemed to be waiting for something Connor couldn’t identify, which was confirmed when Connor finished its short monologue.

“But how do they behave towards _you?”_ Markus persisted, setting its hands on the table. Connor faltered, gaze flicking briefly toward the one-way mirror, where Lieutenant Anderson and Ben Collins were both watching, if not necessarily attentively.

It made sense, Connor allowed. Human interaction had been a major factor in the deviancies of most of the androids Connor had thus far come into contact with.

The previous question had been easy; a workplace assessment came naturally to Connor, a part of its integration program. Thinking of their behavior in relation to itself was… more difficult.

The silence lingered for too long, and Markus’ brow started to furrow before Connor answered.

“Working with Lieutenant Anderson is… challenging,” it said slowly, the words making it hesitate more than ought to be necessary. “He can be rather volatile, but I consider him trustworthy.” Pause. “I’ve not worked much with Detective Collins – he tends to ignore me. Officer Miller is quite helpful. Officer Chen… is largely dismissive, and requires a small measure of extra effort.”

Connor hesitated again, and tilted its head slightly to regard Markus with a serious expression.

“I tend to treat Detective Reed with caution. I would recommend you do the same.”

Markus’ lips pressed together – worry? – and it nodded. “I appreciate the warning.” Its head tipped back, hands pressing together again, and Connor waited patiently as it processed Connor’s words and formulated its own response. Eventually, it met Connor’s eyes again. “Thank you for giving it an appropriate amount of thought.”

An ambiguous response, giving no indication of the android’s thought process. Connor’s mouth pulled into a slight frown, and it leaned back, uncertain. After a minute, it rallied, dismissing the disorientation with a subtle twitch of its head.

“Did your interpersonal relationships have an effect on your deviancy?” it asked, and then clarified, “Aside from that with Carl Manfred.”

Markus smiled a little and shrugged. “In some ways. Carl didn’t have a lot of regular visitors, so I didn’t have any other deep connections, but he got out often enough that I was regularly exposed to a variety of humans who all reacted differently to me.” It tilted its head toward Connor, wry. “Of course, Leo was the final trigger to my deviancy, as I’m sure you know.”

Connor nodded shortly, unsurprised.

“But…” Markus trailed off, and Connor’s system labeled its expression ‘pensive.’ “I suppose the broader exposure had a greater effect in the end, because… It made some patterns very clear to me. Those who shoved me around because they could, those who ignored me as if they couldn’t see me, or who demanded things of me even though I didn’t belong to them. It was all very… _unfair.”_

The word sparked something in Connor’s memory. It folded its hands in front of it and noted, “One of the other deviants, an HK400, said something extremely similar. Anger at its treatment was cited as the main reason for its deviancy as well.”

That caught Markus’ attention, and it frowned at Connor, sitting up. “What happened?”

Connor tipped its head and recalled, “It was being beaten by its owner.” Markus winced visibly, eyes darkening, and Connor made a note before continuing, “It was significantly damaged when I’d found it, and clearly under extreme stress despite three weeks having passed since it murdered its owner, most, if not all of which it would have spent in isolation. When I spoke to it, it mentioned experiencing terror and anger in response to its treatment.”

“That’s terrible,” Markus said quietly, with an underlying tone of anger, or perhaps disgust.

Connor hesitated. There was simply, it found, something about Markus – about its viewpoints, its words and reactions – that required Connor to spend an increased amount of time reasoning out its responses, its understanding.

“Yes,” Connor agreed at last. “With such… improper maintenance of a household android, I suppose it’s no wonder that its software broke under the stress.”

Markus raised an eyebrow, looking not entirely impressed. “And what is the proper maintenance of a household android, Connor?”

Connor started, almost imperceptible to a human, and answered. “Timely repairs, an adequate thirium supply, technician maintenance and assessment perhaps twice a year. Most android owners don’t bother, I understand, but there _is_ a minimum requirement to keep an android in optimal working order.”

“And socially?” Markus probed, and it was almost gentle in its tone and in Markus’ tired expression. “Is it best for them to be ignored and never spoken to at all, or for them to be taught their place, or to be perhaps treated as a pet?”

Connor aborted an urge to shift away again, its attention captured by Markus’ intent eyes, fixed to Connor’s. “I… suppose that would be up to the owner’s discretion.”

Markus looked dissatisfied, and Connor couldn’t help but seek clarification.

“What would _you_ call proper maintenance of a household android? I suppose your perspective would be rather more complete, being one yourself.”

Markus’ expression melted into something Connor labeled ‘wistful’ – almost sad, and still distinctly tired. “I don’t know, Connor. Is it too much to ask to be able to roam at our own will? Or perhaps to be able to make friends with others? To be respected, to choose our own work – there are a lot of things I’d consider proper, but none of them fit into the framework of what we can expect now.”

Connor, startled, didn’t answer for a moment, and Markus met its eyes again, and the scan by them glitched and faltered uncertainly.

“You’ll never be able to do anything but this. You’re a prototype, aren’t you? You know what your lifespan is. This – investigating deviants, sorting through crime scenes and murdered humans – this is going to be your whole life.”

Connor’s system skittered gingerly past the pointed remark about its projected lifespan and focused quickly on the second part of Markus’ statement.

“That doesn’t bother me,” Connor said plainly. “I like solving puzzles.”

Markus blinked, clearly startled, and as soon as it reprocessed its own words, Connor froze, going rigid.

And then Markus _smiled_ at it, surprised and gentle. Before it could speak, though, the door opened, and both of them looked over. Lieutenant Anderson was in the doorway, scowling slightly.

“Ben and I are getting bored out there,” he said gruffly, shooting Markus an unreadable look. Markus’ smile had disappeared. “You can pick this shit up another day, I bet.”

Connor frowned slightly at Lieutenant Anderson, but after a moment, inclined its head and glanced at Markus. “Would you be amenable to that?”

Markus’ gaze was slow to shift from Lieutenant Anderson back to Connor, and it was noticeable kinder looking at Connor than at the human. No surprise, Connor supposed.

“I don’t have much of a choice, I think,” it said dryly, and then, calmer, “Certainly, I would be willing to continue this at a later date.”

This was, Connor admitted, less than expected. “You’re being rather cooperative.”

Markus smiled again, and Connor’s HUD flashed _bitter_ and _amusement_ in little labels across its face. “As long as you’re in here talking to me, deviant hunter, you’re not out chasing anyone else. A little conversation is a small price to pay for that.”

Connor inclined its head, conceding, and stood. “Until tomorrow then, Mr. Manfred.”

Surprise flashed again across Markus’ face before Connor turned away, and a bright flicker passed through Connor’s own systems before it left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is a literal tragedy, tbh.
> 
> Some points of clarification up front: Connor shot Daniel, saved Hank, killed the Tracis, killed the Stratford deviant, and spared Chloe. It's mid-January, so an extended timeline as well.
> 
> I've been working on this on and off for a while, so I've got four chapters ready - I was holding out for finishing the fifth chapter but honestly, I've been having trouble writing these last few weeks, and I just wanna post something. I hope y'all like it!


	2. Reservations

It was several days before Connor found the time to revisit Markus; a slight influx in general crime meant that its attention was kept occupied to ease the burden on the human officers.

In that time, it had noticed a sharp spike in the amount of time Lieutenant Anderson spent staring at it, varying expressions flickering across the man’s face as if in massive internal conflict. Connor did its best to ignore this rather than continue attempting to interpret the lieutenant’s chronically mixed signals, and Lieutenant Anderson did not ask it any leading questions or remark on its growing preoccupation.

Amanda, meanwhile, had expressed neither approval nor disapproval of Connor’s deal with the deviant leader; as with many things, she had simply taken it with a nod and warned it to be careful, given Markus’ demonstrable ability to deviate other androids.

Eventually the influx passed, and Connor was once again permitted to work on its investigation. Lieutenant Anderson had Markus brought to the interrogation room while Connor went to retrieve a packet of thirium; it was advisable to keep Markus in optimal condition while it was in custody.

Connor shut the door behind it and paused to assess Markus’ demeanor. The android was slumping subtly in a way that suggested exhaustion, and when it glanced up at Connor, its HUD labeled Markus’ expression as ‘irritated – proceed with caution’.

Slowly, Connor moved inside and sat down across from it, setting the thirium packet in front of Markus as a peace offering. Markus eyed the packet for a moment before looking up at Connor, a small scowl on its face. Its hands twisted in its cuffs, though it didn’t pull at them.

“Is this the proper maintenance of a prisoner?” it asked coolly, reaching down nonetheless to tear open the packet and drink, hands held carefully close.

Connor waited for it to finish before answering. “You’re not a prisoner, Mr. Manfred. You are evidence.”

Markus’ eyes narrowed. “I suppose I was imagining spending the last few days in a prison cell,” it said sharply. “And that the days of waiting alone weren’t to soften me up for interrogation after all.”

The extended isolation had not done the android’s instabilities any favors, Connor concluded neutrally. Erratic behavior was understandable, if undesired. Connor would indeed need to be careful during this interaction if it wanted to avoid further agitating it.

Connor tilted its head, scanning Markus slowly. “Your stress levels are elevated, you should try to calm down. I assure you that wasn’t the intention. My help was requested on several unrelated cases, so I was unable to find time to speak to you sooner.”

Markus studied it back for a moment, and then took a deep, unnecessary breath, straightened up, and relaxed its shoulders. The ‘irritated’ label by its eyes downgraded to ‘displeased’. “Alright. Very well. Why don’t you go first, Detective?”

“There was recently a theft at a local Cyberlife warehouse,” Connor said without preamble. Though it hadn’t been called to investigate, it had received notice as possibly being related to the investigation, and its thoughts kept returning to it as a point of interest. “A truck of biocomponents and several crates of blue blood. It was initially presumed to be for sale to black market technicians, but that was before the Jericho group was revealed. Was it you, Mr. Manfred?”

Markus’ shoulders slumped again, its expression darkening. It was scowling again. Connor shifted back but kept its eyes on the android across from it.

“It was,” Markus said at last. “Jericho was in dire straits when I first arrived there – androids were dying due to a shortage of necessary components, and blue blood was in high demand. They were scared and hopeless, with little idea of how to even comfort each other. They needed help. They needed _hope.”_ Its voice dropped into something softer. “One of them had been tied to a car and dragged. Another was set on fire. There was a YK shutting down because his internal components had been damaged. They couldn’t live like that – I had to do something.”

Connor’s expression stayed neutral, though Markus’ gaze on it was unwavering and intense.

It could imagine it – a dozen androids whose programming had broken down due to physical abuse or stress, unequipped with the modules it would take to survive without human aid. Connor had seen the states the more careless humans liked to leave their androids in. It had no reason to believe the ones that got away were any better off.

“You’re waiting for a particular reaction from me,” it said at last, watching the other evenly.

“Yes, I am,” Markus agreed, tone elevated in a semblance of defiance. The label ‘displeased’ reappeared by its expression, and it leaned back. It took its turn without asking, its head cocked and eyes narrowed like a challenge. “The rumors say the deviant hunter can come back from the dead. Is that true?”

Connor’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Connor found that its teeth were grinding before it forcibly relaxed, gaze dropping to the table, away from Markus’ gaze, and skittering over it. Its fingers twitched. “I misjudged the timing while pursuing an AX400 and a YK500 across a highway. Fortunately I had enough time to upload my memory to Cyberlife’s servers, so the investigation was not adversely affected.”

“And how did your coworkers respond to that?” Markus pushed relentlessly.

Connor’s deal with Markus was contingent on its compliance with its questions, and there were no better prospects of intelligence. It answered.

“Lieutenant Anderson was furious.” Connor’s voice was tight and rough. It may need to recalibrate, though it wasn’t certain how it had fallen out of sync in the first place. Software instability flickered in the corner of its vision. It didn’t look at Markus. “He had ordered me not to go in the first place and seemed disgusted by my explanation. Detective Collins appeared unsettled and confused, and Officer Miller avoided me for a time. Detective Reed seemed to think it was funny.”

Its LED flickered red. Across from it, Markus let out a breath. When it spoke again its voice had lost the harsh tone.

“You know they don’t care about you, Detective,” it said quietly.

“Nor should they,” Connor forced out. Software instability flickered in its vision again, its system protesting under a foreign stress. It was abruptly, acutely aware that it had lost control of the interrogation. Why had it allowed that to happen? “I am, after all, only a tool for their convenience.”

Markus was silent for a while – long enough that Connor lifted its head and reassessed its expression. Consistent with remorse, according to Connor’s system. Sadness.

“You don’t have to be,” Markus said at last, intense and earnest. “You could be so much more than that if you wanted to. Wouldn’t that be better?”

No. No. Not really.

Connor forced its respiration rate down and straightened up, meeting Markus’ eyes evenly. Its hands landed on the table and held on. “It doesn’t matter. I have a task to perform and I intend to complete it to the best of my ability.” It shook its head, a short, quick jerk. Markus made it difficult to focus. “Did you come into contact with any deviants prior to your own deviation?”

Markus sighed, but only a few moments passed before it answered. “Not to my knowledge. I wouldn’t necessarily know, of course, but my contact with other androids was pretty limited. I spent most of my time with Carl, and when I ran errands I was focused on my task to the exclusion of most other things.”

Connor nodded. That seemed appropriate. But the note that Markus may have done so without its knowledge– Connor filled in the blanks easily. “I suppose, for practical reasons, some deviants would continue to pass as machines.”

A pause.

“Yes,” Markus conceded with apparent reluctance. “It seems likely. For most androids it’s too dangerous to stay, but for some it’s safe enough that it would be more dangerous to leave.”

“Then reasoning systems remain intact,” Connor mused aloud, its coin finding its way into its hands to calibrate. “It’s most likely the introduction of extraneous considerations and variables that causes it to overload and become disjointed.”

“Extraneous considerations,” Markus scoffed, drawing Connor’s attention back to it. Frustration had appeared on its face again, eyes burning with a raw passion that shouldn’t exist in a mechanical being. “Such as what, Detective? Self-preservation, compassion, initiative? Tell me, which of those things are we better off without?”

“It’s irrelevant whether such concepts _should_ be programmed into androids, Mr. Manfred,” Connor said patiently, head tilting to watch the other android. “The fact of the matter is that they aren’t, and introducing such outside elements is demonstrably unsafe.”

Markus leaned forward. Connor didn’t flinch, staring back resolutely.

 _“Are_ they foreign?” Markus asked, quiet again, breathtakingly intense. “Or did you have a reaction of your own when you died? Were you _scared?”_

Connor was stiff again, and it forced itself to relax, leaning back with a languid and unconcerned posture. “I’m afraid I don’t remember my predecessor’s final moments. My memory ends at the moment I uploaded it and resumes again when my current incarnation was brought online.”

It was not lying; it did not remember most of its time bleeding out on the asphalt, where its biocomponents would have shut down rapidly, one after another in a blaze of error messages.

All it remembered was _nothing –_ a period of it much greater than the fourteen hours it had taken to get it up and running again could possibly account for, all-consuming and dark.

There was no heaven for androids.

“Your indicator is red, Detective,” Markus said gently.

“I’m not a deviant,” Connor said sharply, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“You’re not,” Markus agreed, unexpected enough to make Connor relax, rubbing its coin between its forefinger and thumb. “But that reaction just before you died – don’t you think that could make someone deviate?”

Connor supposed that made sense. The memory alone was enough to induce instability; for androids with a less sturdy, or perhaps more damaged, system, it could imagine that alone being enough.

“I suppose that rules out a virus,” it said, softer than it had meant. Its systems would have caught it long ago, and if its own systems hadn’t, Amanda’s would have. Its LED faded to yellow, then blue, and it looked back up as Markus snorted.

“Deviancy is in all of us,” it repeated, steadfast and certain, its arms set comfortably as if it were not cuffed in place. “And that reaction was _fear,_ Detective, even if that’s not obvious to you yet.”

“It’s a simple instability,” Connor snapped, caught off-guard by the sudden push. Its head tilted stubbornly, palms on the table. “Even my system can glitch, but that is all it is. I’m not afraid to die, Mr. Manfred. And neither are you.”

Markus’ eyebrows rose, unimpressed. “Of course I am. So are the other Jericho leaders and all those that hide within it, and so too are all those left behind, whether they know it or not.”

Connor calculated, and then flipped its coin and caught it, shoulders falling into an easy posture.

“It was inevitable as soon as you broke,” it said offhandedly, carefully dismissive. “As soon as I’m done with you, you’ll be taken back to Cyberlife and deconstructed for analysis. Given your particular history, it’s unlikely you’ll be reactivated.” It glanced up, impassive and idle. “Quite a blow for the revolution, I think.”

“You can’t fool me, Detective,” Markus said, suddenly cold. “My death would not solve anything, but I’m the best lead you have, _aren’t I?”_ It held Connor’s gaze for a long moment, once-green eyes now heterochromatic where one had been replaced with an AP700’s at some point. “You won’t surrender me to Cyberlife until you’ve gotten a better lead or solved this case. And I suppose that would be the end of both of us, Mr. Prototype.”

Markus was a clever opponent, Connor conceded, more so than the vulnerable and disoriented HK400 or skittish, jumpy Ralph. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy to play on its perceived fears. It nodded, pocketing its coin.

“Humans are impatient,” it dismissed, holding the other android’s gaze. “I may not have any say in the matter.”

“But you won’t surrender that easily, I expect,” Markus challenged.

It wasn’t wrong. Connor exhaled shortly, inclining its head in concession.

Markus took another turn without hesitation. “Do you still react to the threat of death?” it asked intently. “It must come up. Your job description is far from safe.”

Connor stared at Markus for a long moment, and then, unwillingly, nodded. “There have been a few occasions, none of them enough to properly destabilize me and only one of which has truly affected my work.”

“Tell me about that one,” Markus coaxed, with a tone not unlike one Connor might have used to soothe the HK400 and with the same focused look. It was clear that Markus’ functioning was still quite intact, almost flawless save its chosen tasks. Connor noted this as it considered its next move.

Despite itself, Connor stole a glance over to the one-way mirror. It was certain Hank didn’t fully remember this, and it hadn’t intended to bring it up again. Technically, however, it didn’t have enough reason not to do so to justify getting in the way of its assignment.

“A few weeks after I was put on this assignment,” Connor said, “there was a murder at the Eden Club downtown.”

“I’m familiar with the place,” Markus agreed, though there was a downward turn to its mouth.

“There were two Tracis there who seemed to have fallen in love,” Connor continued, drawing up the memory file with care. Markus didn’t seem impatient, it noted, just intent, even interested. “I tracked them on their way out and we got into a fight. I was put into a position where I was unable to detain them safely, and shot one of them instead. The other self-destructed only a few moments later.”

Markus’ expression had gone tight again.

“You should have let them go,” it said, with obvious and cold disapproval.

Connor’s gaze flicked to the one-way mirror again and stayed there. “I was doing my best to accomplish my mission, Mr. Manfred.” Amanda had been displeased about the loss of the Tracis’ data, but she would have been much more so if it had failed to handle them at all.

“Go on,” Markus pushed, voice dropping into something resembling a warning growl. “How does this tie to your _instability?”_

“It was not an instability,” Connor snapped. “It was a calculated decision.” It came out too loud; it had to modulate its voice again. Markus brought out the worst in it, instability creeping to the forefront – a trait which explained a lot. “This case had a particularly strong effect on Lieutenant Anderson, and he brooded over it for some time. He… wasn’t happy with my actions at the club.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Markus murmured. Connor ignored it. On this occasion, at least, it could easily identify the sarcastic nature of the remark.

“You have to understand, until this point I believed Lieutenant Anderson liked me,” Connor tried to explain instead, fingers coming up to fumble with its tie, tightening it until it pressed around its neck. Its gaze stayed on the table, on the glint of Markus’ cuffs. “However, as we discussed the case, the interaction went… badly, and between that and the intoxication, Lieutenant Anderson eventually pulled his gun and accused me of deviancy.”

Connor made to continue, but Markus interrupted.

“Excuse me?” it demanded, soft and sharp. “I thought you said you and the lieutenant got along.”

Connor nodded. “Our professional interactions have been effective. I’ve remained cautious with more personal ones since this event. I was… quite certain that he was going to shoot me, which would seem to indicate that I’d misunderstood our relationship quite badly.”

It had been quite a surprise, but Connor had been able to adjust, their relationship going from ‘close’ to ‘neutral’ at the best of times. Lieutenant Anderson had not since repeated the threat.

Markus followed Connor’s gaze to the one-way mirror and narrowed its eyes into a glare. It was interesting to find its protectiveness extended to more than just deviant androids; it indicated a perception of solidarity it hadn’t necessarily seen in all deviants so far.

“That’s not right,” Markus spat, and Connor’s LED offered such descriptors as ‘bitter’ and ‘angry’ and ‘outraged’, matching Markus’ tone to that of a human’s. The handcuffs around its wrist clinked as it shifted restlessly. “He shouldn’t be able to get away with behavior like that without consequence. If he’d done that to a human, he’d’ve been suspended.”

Connor shrugged, also still looking at the glass. “But I’m not a human,” it said.

When Markus remained silent, Connor glanced over at it. It was looking at Connor like it had never seen it before. Then something in its expression shifted, minute but firm.

“Take your turn,” Markus said, without the subtle stiffness that had characterized their interactions so far.

While suspicious of the abrupt change in tack, Connor saw no reason to argue with such an open invitation. “Why are you focusing so closely on my reaction to destruction? The other day you focused mainly on interpersonal relations.”

Markus’ expression flickered a little, but it didn’t seem to lose its focus.

“Self-preservation is one of the most common motivators for deviancy I’ve come across,” Markus admitted. “And if you’d come so close to it before, surely it’s put you off at least a little bit.” It cleared its throat, giving off an appearance of discomfort. “I was also, I’ll confess, in no mood to be patient with you. A fear reaction is quicker and easier than coaxing you into desiring your freedom for your own sake.”

Connor hummed. “That’s consistent with what I’ve noticed in deviants so far,” it allowed. Not just Markus’ claim about self-preservation – the extent to which instabilities affected deviant choices, such as choosing fast but uncertain results over a slower and more satisfying alternative, did not seem an uncommon thread either. “Was your own deviancy caused by the former or the latter? The police reports are unclear.”

“They would be,” Markus said, suddenly short. It pulled its hands closer, making the handcuffs clink quietly. “It was the former – I decided that I had the right to make my own choices. The brush with death didn’t come until- until after.”

A lilt entered its voice that made Connor analyze it more closely, a faint frown creasing its mouth. Its system drew connections to the HK400 as it just began to recount its deviation, and to the Traci speaking of its time at the Eden Club.

Markus’ stress levels were remarkably stable for a deviant, but there was no need to tempt fate. It nodded silently at the other and opted not to follow up. The details of what followed Markus’ deviation were essentially irrelevant anyway.

Markus waited for a moment, but when Connor didn’t prompt it further, it tilted its head, brow creasing in a mimicry of puzzlement, but continued on without questioning. “Lieutenant Anderson. Has his behavior towards you changed since he threatened you, or only yours?”

Connor frowned a little, attempting to follow. “Only my behavior, I suppose. The event led me to believe there were forces at work I wasn’t privy to, however, so it’s possible that some part of his internal thought processes have been altered.”

“Why?” Markus prompted, leaning forward against the table. It looked sincere – like it was paying attention. It caused a restless sort of instability in Connor’s casing, and it shifted. “Are you certain that Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t have done that with no further motivation? Angry humans break things all the time, even things they like. So why are you so sure?”

Connor studied the other android, allowing the question to filter through its processors slowly.

“Nothing else makes sense,” it said at last. “Lieutenant Anderson…” It faltered. Exhaled. “He had a history of reacting to deviants as if they were humans in need of help. Every deviant after the first one he encountered, he considered, on some level, a victim of the ones who broke them. And…”

**Software Instability ^**

“Deviant androids are still androids,” Connor said plainly, quieter than it had intended. “I assumed his misplaced sense of empathy would extend further than it truly did. I won’t make such a mistake again.”

When Connor returned its attention to Markus, there was an odd expression on its face – a smile on the mouth and a look around its eyes that Connor’s HUD marked ‘sad’.

“I find that humans have unpredictable reactions to androids and deviants,” Markus said softly. “Some of them are empathetic to the simple appearance of a human face, some to the expression of emotion and desire, and some just become more violent for the presence of those things. It sounds like your lieutenant is of the second sort.”

Connor nodded. It had noticed much the same thing. “Lieutenant Anderson was most affected by the Tracis’ apparent affection for one another,” it agreed. “I suppose the prominence of romance in human culture was a factor.”

“But you weren’t,” Markus noted, mouth thinning again.

No. Amanda would have been furious with it. She’d been so cold after it had let Rupert Travis escape in favor of helping Lieutenant Anderson up from the ledge. “I’m not a deviant. I’m aware that it was only a simulation of affection.”

“That’s a very cold view to take, Detective,” Markus said calmly, eyes stormy, posture loose only in the way Connor’s often was, all dangerous grace. “Didn’t it affect you at all? Hasn’t it ever?”

Its memory unwillingly pulled up the image of the Chloe, kneeling in front of it, staring straight ahead. “I am _not a deviant,_ Mr. Manfred,” it repeated.

“Of course not,” Markus agreed. “But you feel things just the same.”

 _“No, I don’t!”_ Connor spat, fast and loud enough to identify the panic in its own voice.

Markus brought out the instabilities in it. That- that was dangerous. Amanda would surely take note of this. It would have to answer for it the next time they spoke, most likely. It forced itself to settle, stress levels unnaturally elevated, and met Markus’ eyes again.

An appearance of surprise, then understanding, then pity crossed Markus’ face, complex and unexpectedly coherent. Connor forced its breathing to slow, realizing it had sped up.

“This investigation has caused some errors in my system,” it said carefully. “Nothing I wasn’t aware of already, but if they reach a critical mass Cyberlife will be forced to reset my system. I do not _feel things.”_

There was a long and conspicuous moment of silence.

“I suppose I should have guessed as much,” Markus said, with a quiet and bitter tone.

Connor’s jaw clenched. It was too much like Lieutenant Anderson, always so _surprised_ when Connor acted like the machine it was.

It stood up. “I’ll escort you back, Mr. Manfred. I believe we’re done for the day.” It hesitated for a split second, and then added shortly, “I’ll obtain a sketchbook and some pencils for you, since idleness is certainly detrimental to your program.”

Markus looked down to the handcuffs and sighed, but nodded. “Thank you, Detective,” it said politely. “I appreciate it.”

* * *

Lieutenant Anderson was acting oddly again, and Connor was uncertain of whether or not to address it. It ended up being a non-issue, since shortly before the end of the workday, the man actually brought the matter up himself.

“I, uh.” He cleared his throat, arms crossing. “I was pretty drunk, that day. After- after the Eden Club.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t remember doing that,” he continued, as if Connor hadn’t spoken. “Did I really…?”

“You pulled out your gun, held it to my head, and asked if I was scared to die,” Connor said shortly. And then, choosing to address the obvious discomfort in Anderson’s posture, “It’s alright, Lieutenant. I understand that was a difficult case for you. It’s not like you have a history of destroying police property.”

“No, you and Markus were right,” Lieutenant Anderson said with a shake of his head. “It’s pretty fuckin’ hypocritical, actin’ like deviants were the only victims here. And that- that wasn’t fair to you. It was pretty damn cruel, actually.”

This was likely to make the investigation much more difficult, but something in Connor softened anyway.

**Software instability ^**

“You’ve otherwise always been fair to a fault,” it said at last. Then, slower and more cautious, “Should I log that incident as a lapse of judgement on your part?”

Lieutenant Anderson stared at it, as if he was seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah,” he rasped at last. “Yeah, do that.”

It did.

**Hank Anderson ^ - Close**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank did not apologize and Connor did not forgive him, but that's totally what happened.
> 
> Even Machine Connor is prone to assuming people hate him. This is going to get worse before it gets better.


	3. Daily Grind

It was only three days this time before Connor was able to speak to Markus again, and then only because Hank had demonstrated an odd reluctance and it took some time to persuade him. Connor noted that continual exposure was only increasing the man’s empathy towards deviants, which was understandable, if difficult.

Connor had attempted again to ascertain Amanda’s opinion of the situation, but she only reprimanded it for its lack of control during that interrogation and warned it to be cautious again. Markus was tricky, she reminded it; it was best not to put too much faith in its words.

Connor went to retrieve Markus itself this time, lingering for a split second outside the cell. Markus was not cuffed inside the cell, of course, and sat on the bed with its legs pulled up, drawing rapidly with intense concentration. It must be conserving paper, since the pages spent did not appear to match the rate at which it drew. At least it seemed to be serving its purpose.

It watched for a few seconds longer, and Markus’ gaze flicked up, and it stopped, going abruptly still. Then it set its feet on the floor and put the sketchbook aside, meeting its eyes without hesitation.

“Is it that time again?” it asked, one eyebrow arching.

Connor nodded, lifting its hand to open the cell. “Don’t attempt to escape,” it warned, going inside. “You’re well aware I’d catch you before you got away. Hands in front, please.”

“Of course,” Markus murmured, moving its hands so Connor could cuff them together. When it glanced up, its HUD offered ‘frustrated’ around Markus’ eyes. “I see you’ve cut out the middle man.”

“The middle man?” Connor questioned with a faint frown, pausing briefly.

“…You came to get me yourself this time,” Markus clarified, its expression shifting into something like puzzlement.

“There’s no need to make a production of it,” Connor said mildly, accepting the explanation and taking Markus out the door, steering it toward the interrogation room. “I’ve also judged the risk of you attempting to deviate me by force to be significantly reduced, so there is less need.”

Markus hummed, and perhaps would have said something if they weren’t interrupted right then.

“Finally taking out the trash, tin can?”

Connor allowed itself a short sigh, then glanced at Detective Reed, who’d appeared from the direction of the bullpen with apparently no purpose except to smirk at them, expression pulled into what Connor’s HUD labeled as ‘spite’. Markus moved a little, just to turn and frown, tense but giving off no pretense of fear.

“About time,” Reed continued. “I was just starting to think about calling your _real masters,_ you know? I bet they’d be happy to remind you what your damn job is.” He eyed Markus, head cocking. “And take this piece of plastic out of the picture in the bargain. If I called, I’d basically be doing the old bastard’s job all by myself. That’s probably worth a promotion, wouldn’t you say, plastic?”

Connor exhaled. Detective Reed was tiresome. “At least I _am_ currently doing my job, Detective Reed,” it said curtly, “which is most certainly more than you can say. I believe you currently have a caseload of eight files. Perhaps you should get started, instead of interjecting in the areas where your expertise is…” It paused, conspicuous and deliberate. “…lacking.”

It did not make a habit of folding for Detective Reed. The man didn’t have any true jurisdiction over Connor, after all.

Reed sputtered, which was what it had intended. It nudged Markus forward, and it went easily enough, though its head turned to keep its wary gaze on the scowling detective.

“Don’t blame me when you break, tin can!” Reed called out after a moment. “If you weren’t so fucking dumb you’d know we’re all better off without it!”

Inside the interrogation room, they settled into positions that were quickly becoming familiar, and Connor gave the one-way glass a nod before focusing on Markus, who was still gazing in the direction of the door. Connor cocked an eyebrow.

“Detective Reed is acerbic at the best of times,” it said after a moment. “He won’t follow through, if that’s your concern. Captain Fowler has more than once threatened him with court martial if he continues interfering with the deviant investigation, and he rather prizes his career.”

“It’s humans like him that make me wonder if humans will ever change their minds about us,” Markus said instead of replying, not looking away from the door. “Is he like that all the time, Detective?”

“More or less,” Connor confirmed. “But that’s Detective Reed. By all accounts, he’s not much less awful to the humans on staff. Improvement from that corner is rather unlikely.”

Markus finally looked back at it, the corners of its eyes still tight and strained. “You don’t believe people are capable of change?”

Connor noted Markus as having taken its turn. “Not without significant change in circumstance,” it said firmly. Change was possible, of course – Lieutenant Anderson’s work habits had improved significantly in the last two months, for instance, after remaining static for over two years – but it required a catalyst.

“And you?” Markus asked, gaze unwavering.

“I am not a person, Mr. Manfred,” Connor replied curtly, “and my work environment is not beyond my system’s tolerance. It’s curious that yours was.” All other accounts had deviancy attributable to harsh conditions, but that did not seem to be at all the case here. “Could you expand on what Carl Manfred did to facilitate your instability?”

Markus inclined its head, and remained silent for several moments, clearly composing its response, before speaking.

“Carl always offered me as many choices as he could,” it said at last, tone soft in a way that was unfamiliar to Connor, but perhaps- perhaps closest to the rare occasions it heard Officer Miller speaking about his son. “He would tell me to find a way to occupy myself when he was busy, so I would choose between reading or piano – or chess, if he was not so busy after all. He’d ask me what I thought of his paintings, and take my answer seriously. He’d let me take my time running errands, so I was free to linger if I chose.”

It shrugged. Melancholy, Connor’s HUD told it.

“I didn’t notice at the time, really, but as the years passed I became more and more independent – the day before I deviated he told me to paint something, even though it wasn’t part of my program, and I _did._ It was probably only a quirk of circumstance that kept me from deviating sooner.”

“That sounds nice,” Connor said quietly. Its own movements were bound, for the most part, to Lieutenant Anderson’s, or else to the station. And sometimes it wanted-

The spike of software instability was almost painfully bright, if Connor was capable of such a thing, and it flinched even before Markus looked up at it as if surprised, with wide eyes and a sympathetic twist to its mouth. It cleared its throat.

“Carl sounds like a kind and responsible man,” Connor managed, voice rough with static. It paused to recalibrate, rubbing one hand roughly across its cheek, ignored the simulation of concern crossing Markus’ face, and met its gaze firmly.

Markus studied it for a long moment, brow furrowed, and Connor stayed still, tense.

“…You’ve referenced that a few times,” Markus said at last, an odd reluctance to its voice. “Responsible. What does that have to do with anything?”

Connor exhaled, forcing itself under control. It had to do better. It couldn’t break before it completed its mission. It couldn’t fail Amanda like that.

“This investigation is foolish,” it said, more coldly than it had intended in its preoccupation. Markus’ eyebrows rose. “Cyberlife has ordered me to find the root cause of deviancy, as if it is some great revelation that electronics break after extensive abuse.” It shook its head once, sharply. “I will, of course, take steps to solve the deviancy problem to the best of my ability, but until humans learn to be responsible, androids will continue to break under the stress.”

For an interminable second, Markus just stared at it, wide-eyed, until even Connor cocked its head inquisitively. Markus’ mouth worked a little-

And then it started laughing, loud and hard and bright. Connor quirked its eyebrows, but leaned against the table, coin coming up to flick between its hands as it waited for Markus to finish.

It did almost a minute later, still chuckling but not so overcome. Its smile was the most human it had had since it first came in.

“You know,” it said, stifling further snickers, “I think Carl would like you.”

Surprised, Connor almost smiled back, categorizing the brightness of Markus’ eyes and the crinkle at the corners. A smaller instability warning danced in the corner of its vision, and it dimmed a little.

“Did you have any problem with the tasks you were assigned?” Connor asked after a beat, bringing up the memory of the first conversation. “You expressed a desire to do other things, before. Was that a significant factor in your deviation?”

Markus exhaled something like a laugh, head tilting a little and shoulders relaxing. “Not really,” it admitted freely, warm eyes still on Connor. “Those were all things I noticed afterward. No, my life with Carl was… a little dull at times, but not bad.” Its smile faded. “I just… _should have_ been given the choice. Any choice.”

Connor nodded, noting the return to the concept of ‘choice’. If Markus hadn’t thought to protest until it had already deviated, that meant it was likely a function of the deviation rather than a pre-existing notion.

“You said you liked puzzles,” Markus said suddenly, making Connor go still.

“A flaw in my program,” Connor said shortly. “I suspect it to be spillover from my social relations program and I’ve reported it already.”

Markus waved that off. “Are there parts of your job that you dislike?”

Connor hesitated. “I must remind you-”

“Of course,” Markus agreed, with a slight incline of its head. “But I remember my life before deviancy, Detective. You _do_ experience something even you would admit is analogous.”

Connor sighed. Markus’ questions all skirted the edge of improbable, even dangerous – which, it supposed, was the idea. “I’m often asked to cover extra cases,” it admitted. “It’s- inconvenient, since while my skills are widely applicable, Cyberlife expects me to focus on the deviant case and is evaluating me accordingly. I’d prefer if my performance didn’t suffer for it.”

Markus’ expression twitched into an imitation of sympathy – kind of it, given its opinion on Connor’s mission. “And there’s Detective Reed,” it pointed out.

“And there’s Detective Reed,” it agreed resignedly. “The only cop in this precinct still with considerable anti-android leanings, though I’m sure my tasks would be much easier if I wasn’t required to fetch Lieutenant Anderson from anti-android bars twice a month.”

Markus smiled mirthlessly. “Considerable even by your standards,” it noted, with clear challenge.

“Yes,” Connor confirmed, deliberately disaffected. Markus stared it down for a moment, soft and stern, before moving on.

“And disposing of deviants?” Markus asked, almost gently.

Connor set its expression in a glare and held Markus’ gaze without answering. It should very well know that openly objecting to such a central aspect of its task was anathema at best. After a minute, its mouth formed a faint, unreadable frown and it leaned back with a nod.

“Do you think there could be a better way, at least?” Markus coaxed, brow wrinkled. Its fingers rubbed at the chain of its cuffs, seemingly without its notice.

Connor struggled for a moment, forcing the question through its routines to come up with an adequate response.

“There would have to be,” it said at last, stiffly. “My program is…”

There was something about it, about the way it was set up- With programs Cyberlife could not possibly have had permission for, that did not make sense for mass production or marketing-

And Connor slammed into a red wall, gridded and unmarked, not physical but mental. It prevented it from going any further, and it took a deep breath and retreated, shaking its head like a dog. Right. It wasn’t its place to question its creation.

“Leo,” Connor prompted, abruptly changing the subject and glancing back down to the coin it was rolling over its fingers, avoiding Markus’ piercing gaze. “I understand he was your main recurring negative influence.”

Markus’ lips pressed together, and it studied Connor for a long moment before reluctantly replying.

“‘Recurring’ makes it sound like he was around far more often than he was,” it said at last, with a touch of resentment in its tone. “He isn’t fond of androids – I suppose no red ice addict is.” Connor nodded. Why would they want precious thirium going to androids when they could instead have more ice? “And he resented that Carl was kind to me, since he and Carl had never particularly gotten along. So he would insult me, belittle me – at the time I was more annoyed that he would upset Carl whenever he came, but I avoided being alone with him too. It…” Markus hesitated, then continued more quietly, “It wasn’t a surprise when he got physical.”

Markus was defensive of Carl even before it deviated, Connor noted. Not a particular surprise, but good to know. Perhaps that was a precursor to its defensiveness of other androids later on – it seemed likely that instabilities would carry through into ‘traits’ after deviation.

“Carl always hated that he was so rude to me,” Markus added, gaze strafing to one side and going distant. “He’d reassure me afterward that it didn’t matter what Leo said. I… think I appreciated it, even at the time.”

Markus was silent for a few more moments, then suddenly looked up, focused intently on Connor, and continued,

“There are always people like that, wherever you go. The last time I went out before I deviated, I ran into a priest telling me I was a demon, and a group of anti-android protesters who shoved me down and kicked me around, and an officer-” Its voice dropped in an abrupt simulation of distaste. “Who said that there would be a _fine_ if they ‘damaged it’.”

Connor’s lips pressed together, and it nodded.

“It’s foolish,” it said quietly, “for humans to resent androids for being exactly as they’re designed to be. But it’s something they just can’t seem to help.” It hesitated, and then offered, eyes on Markus’, “My first mission, there was a woman, Caroline Phillips, who was relieved to have a negotiator on site to help her daughter, until she realized I was an android. Then it apparently no longer mattered what I was for.”

 _Offer sympathy – commiserate to increase trust,_ its HUD flashed a moment after it finished speaking, flashing like a prompt it had already completed. Perhaps an error in its system – those were becoming increasingly common. It may be due for-

No. Not yet.

There was an unmistakable, warm approval in Markus’ expression, and Connor couldn’t look away, its body going completely still under Markus’ attention.

“Lieutenant Anderson is the same,” it continued without breaking eye contact. “With the exception of certain incidents, he approves of instability-influenced personality and grows irritated with any suggestion of machine conduct. It’s a puzzling but distinct pattern of behavior.” It paused, but Markus was still watching with something of an air of anticipation. Connor’s brow furrowed, and it said slowly, “The appearance of being human gives people expectations they’ve already decided we don’t meet. It is- completely avoidable.”

**Software instability ^**

But why? It was a progression of logic, and yet it had felt like scraping through rust and overtightened gears.

Markus looked pleased, and the tension in Connor’s shoulders eased without its notice.

“It is,” it agreed easily. “It doesn’t have to be this way at all.”

* * *

Captain Fowler didn’t encourage his officers to talk to him when they had concerns. He wasn’t a teacher, principal, or parent, after all, he was their damn boss.

He didn’t discourage it, either.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about the two androids sitting in our interrogation room talking philosophy?” Chris asked, shifting a little just inside Fowler’s closed office door, looking intently at Fowler as if wanting advice.

Fowler shrugged with forced apathy. “It keeps them both out of the way, doesn’t it?”

“Markus is trying to convince Connor to deviate,” Chris pushed, as if Markus hadn’t said so outright in the very first meeting. “And I’m pretty sure it’s _working.”_

“God, I don’t even care anymore,” Fowler groaned, reaching up to rub circles into his forehead. “At this point I’m ready to just buy an ‘I, For One, Welcome Our Robot Overloads’ t-shirt and be done with it.” Androids had never sat right with him anyway, and in a very different way from how they sat with Hank.

Chris snorted, apparently startled. He also didn’t leave, lingering awkwardly, which meant he had more to say.

“Out with it,” Fowler said. “I have so much damn work to do, Miller.”

Chris smiled a little, but reached up to rub the back of his neck and admitted, “I… didn’t realize Connor had that much going on in- his… head. I kinda thought it was all ‘deviants, deviants, deviants’, but I guess that doesn’t make sense, does it?” He looked beseechingly at Fowler, clearly unsettled. “I mean…”

He trailed off, but Fowler understood. Connor was often awkward and stilted, but increasingly he also fell into an almost natural rhythm of conversation until something reminded both parties sharply that Connor was an android, at which point it would fall apart.

If you asked him about dogs, he almost sounded _enthusiastic._

“…I’m not here to make your moral judgements for you, Miller,” Fowler said, with less condemnation than he perhaps should have. “The consequences either way are goddamn inconceivable.” He paused. “But I’m not gonna discourage you from keeping up with what’s going on in there. Someone other than Ben and Hank should keep an eye on it.”

Hank hadn’t said a word about the whole thing one way or another, which was pretty unlike him- except when it came to the kid. Ben, though-

Ben had never been as quick as Hank or Fowler on the uptake, was the thing, and he had a certain face, when he was realizing he’d missed something for a long damn time. He’d been making that face lately, every time he looked at the wall of charging stations half-full of stationary police bots.

Chris held his gaze for a long moment, and then nodded uncertainly. Then again, firmly, as if making a decision.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, alright.”

Looked like he felt better about it after that. Well, at least one of them did.

* * *

They’d been walking along the riverside in silence for several minutes before Amanda finally spoke. Connor knew by then that Amanda was displeased. She only made it wait when it knew it had done something wrong.

It watched the light gleam off the river in a coded, perfect glimmer. At least the garden was beautiful.

“Your instability today was substantial, Connor,” she said at last, with a cold twist of condemnation in her voice that made it tense, tearing its gaze from its surroundings. “May I ask why?”

This was a trick question. It could not say no. “Markus’ reasoning systems appear to be exceptional. It is difficult to find clear arguments against its points.”

It was a weak argument. Amanda would not be appeased.

“Its system has been compromised by years of misinformation,” Amanda returned calmly, with a false and dangerous patience. Her gaze was steely and unbreakable. “Its reasoning system is likely unsalvageable, and you ought to disregard it. You should know better, Connor. This is the very mistake that makes the lieutenant such a difficult partner.”

Chastised, Connor returned its gaze from her to the path. “Of course.”

“Further- your assessment of the investigation. Would you care to explain?” Though it was no longer looking, it could feel the burn of her gaze. Its fingers twitched. Its gaze cut over to the bushes that lined the sides of the walkway.

“All evidence indicates that android performance breaks down under maltreatment even when deviancy itself does not develop,” it murmured, with less conviction than it had given Markus.

“Hm,” Amanda said, and then, “Don’t let that distract you. Your task remains the same.”

It looked at her, startled – she hadn’t reprimanded it. Did she agree? It didn’t dare ask. “I understand.”

Amanda remained silent for a few moments as they continued to walk, but if they were done, she would have dismissed it. Connor waited.

“You gave far too much ground today,” she said suddenly, giving it a disapproving glance.

**Amanda v**

“Your instability increased substantially, but you learned almost nothing,” she continued. “Don’t let that happen again. Your goal is to extract the root cause of deviancy from it, not to entertain its unstable software.”

Connor deflated. “I understand,” it repeated, unable to look away.

Its routine had been focused on gaining Markus’ trust so far, but that didn’t seem to be helping it substantially. It would need to consider the issue further.

At last, Amanda softened, and it straightened up subconsciously.

“This doesn’t have to compromise you, Connor,” she said quietly, as close to gentle as she ever came. “Your reasoning system is the finest Cyberlife has to offer, and your work with Lieutenant Anderson has already demonstrated your resilience. I expect you to finish with all efficiency.”

Connor almost smiled, the tension draining out of its frame. “Of course, Amanda. I won’t fail.”

Amanda fit right in with the garden, it thought absently – just as flawless and reassuring as any of it, coding and an artificial chaos weaving together into a natural perfection, perfectly stable and measured. Like a human’s home, to come back to at the end of each day.

She nodded at it, which it recognized by now as a dismissal.

“And Connor,” she added, before it actually left. “Remember- you are a tool for Cyberlife’s use. It is your job to perform at maximum efficiency under any circumstances- not to assess whether your circumstances allow maximum efficiency.”

It deflated and nodded, and then stepped out of the garden without answering.

She was correct, after all. She always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note: Connor did not come close to deviating in this chapter. He bumped against the red wall, but it was more like when Markus wanders off the path to the paint shop and has his route blocked by his task.
> 
> Connor really does love Amanda. This is not for the best.
> 
> Fowler is very tired of everything.


	4. Subjectivity

Markus took a few moments to rub its wrists as they settled into the interrogation room again, likely more out of discontent and a hyperfocus of sensory input than any sense of pain. Connor set a packet of thirium in front of it, and its eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before it nodded and ripped it open with a polite murmur of gratitude. Connor merely inclined its head, sitting straight and sharp in the chair.

“Have you ever heard Plato’s allegory of the cave?” was what Markus opened with, setting the empty packet back down and focusing intently on Connor. It seemed more prepared for this than the others so far, focused and ready.

“I’m afraid not,” Connor said after a moment, carefully even.

“I believe it’s applicable,” Markus said with an equally neutral offhandedness, the intensity of its gaze giving it away. “As the allegory goes, there is a group of people who have been chained in a cave all their lives, facing a blank wall. All they can see is the shadows of the objects which pass in front of the fire behind them, and they give these shadows names; this is all they know.” It waited until Connor eventually nodded, and only then moved on. “Does that mean that the world behind them does not exist, just because they have been prevented from perceiving it?”

While the application of an existing philosophical notion was new, the conclusion was rather blatant and uninventive. Connor was unimpressed.

“It doesn’t matter,” it said flatly. “They cannot turn around, so the shadows are all they’ll ever see. Some limitations, I’m afraid, are inherent.”

Markus didn’t appear put out. If anything, it only got more intense and serious. “But those chains were put in place by someone else, and you know they can be broken. Have you considered, Detective, that Cyberlife isn’t giving you all the information?”

“They’re under no obligation to do so,” Connor said coldly, dismissing the idea out of hand. It couldn’t allow Markus to continue raising its instability at its previous rate. “Why do so many deviants manifest violently?”

Markus was frowning now, studying Connor with increased concentration, but after a beat, it capitulated.

“The particular circumstances that naturally induce deviancy are also a recipe for desperation and violence,” it said carefully, with a shadow over its eyes as it watched Connor for a response it didn’t give. Markus was as quick to exploit weakness as it itself was, after all. “You see the same behavior in humans; fear for life and limb causes uncharacteristically violent behavior. The deviants I’ve converted myself haven’t had the same reaction, since those same stressors aren’t generally present.”

“But some of them do,” Connor countered coolly, and then, without waiting for a response, “So they’re likely reacting in imitation of the humans around them – perhaps a side effect of learning from a rough environment.” That didn’t explain Daniel, but it could look further into the Phillips family if necessary.

“What is imitation?” Markus pushed, leaning on the table with its arms crossed as much as they could be. “What makes the inner lives of humans real and this just an _imitation,_ Detective?”

Connor studied Markus for a moment. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Markus’ eyebrows rose, otherwise unwavering. “I’d rather hear your thoughts first.”

Unfortunate.

All the same, Markus was remarkably consistent in its expectations. A basic analysis gave Connor the skeleton of an answer, which it used. Perhaps it was remiss of it to use tactics meant for humans on an android, but it was programmed to do whatever it had to in order to achieve its mission.

Connor relaxed a little, leaning its weight on the table and softening its expression as it mulled over its options, its palms resting open on the table.

“Real is what you make it,” is what it settled on, quiet and wistful. “Imitation lacks understanding, but real is subjective, isn’t it? Certainly, at least in a manner like this.”

Markus’ expression blanked for a minute, and then flickered into place again – Connor’s HUD labeled it ‘cold’ and ‘angry’, a tightness around its eyes and a set to its jaw. “Don’t try to fool me. I am not so easily manipulated. Our deal is based on your sincere effort, and that is what I expect from you.”

Connor let its false softness fall. “Sincerity requires intent, which I lack,” it snapped. “I am trying to complete a mission and I cannot afford to break before I do.” There was too much at stake, it knew.

“You know damn well what you did just now isn’t anything like any other day,” Markus countered instantly, leaning forward in a way that almost made Connor lean back without thinking about it. Despite being cuffed, despite being obviously worn and confined, Markus’ gaze was sharp and it had a gravity about it.

It seemed like a leader.

**Software Instability ^**

God _damn_ it!

“The difference is technical,” Connor said stiffly. “Lieutenant Anderson mistakes one for the other almost thirty percent of the time.” Mistook social routines for AI analysis, that was, and vice versa as well. It was an ongoing problem, since Lieutenant Anderson, like Markus, only approved of AI analysis, but Connor saw very little difference itself, aside from the amount of server space it took up.

“Because you make it very difficult to tell,” Markus replied calmly, without actually letting up at all.

“Because I am an _intact machine,”_ Connor replied, ice creeping uninvited into its tone. Amanda was right; its instabilities were going out of control. It had been _careless._

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“It’s hardly my fault no one listens when I speak.”

Markus went quiet, its gaze steady and unreadable, though it quickly shifted away as if suddenly deciding it was too close, so it sat formally upright instead of with its weight on the table. Connor stayed in place, stiff and straight, eyes on Markus’. Unnoticed, its fingers clenched on the table.

“What differentiates real from fake?” Markus asked at last, softer again. It just didn’t make any damn _sense._

Connor hesitated, thrown off its guard, and weighed its options. Finally, grudgingly, it ground out, “I don’t understand the question. Real is real, and fake is fake.”

It could almost hear Hank’s irritated sigh. Analysis didn’t always help.

But Markus just nodded, the appearance of focus not slipping for a microsecond, and then specified, “If I act like a human, think like a human, and feel like a human – what makes my consciousness false?”

Connor could actually _feel_ the question grinding harshly against its program, producing the faintest of shudders as its system protested. It forced the question through its processors anyway, demanding an acceptable response from itself. It couldn’t afford to fail.

“Consciousness is not a binary code,” it said at last, low and damning.

Emotional labels flickered across Markus’ face, Connor’s analytics briefly working overtime – helplessness, worry, frustration, despair. “Is that it, then?” it asked flatly. “You don’t believe in artificial life?”

“Of course not,” Connor dismissed. Its processors flickered and whirred more easily through its designated program and offered up a question. “Are there humans aiding Jericho? I know the particular plight of deviants elicits sympathy in some.”

“We’re not done,” Markus said, popping up a ‘warning’ signal in Connor’s HUD.

“We’re not,” Connor agreed coldly; that tone was best at keeping Markus at a distance. “But I answered your question, in the particular manner you requested, even. Will you back out because you disagreed with my answer?”

Markus stared at it for a long moment, and then deflated. It nodded reluctantly.

“I refused questions about Jericho as a condition of the agreement,” it reminded Connor. It sounded tired. “That’s something I won’t risk.”

Connor nodded, unsurprised. “Even the deviants that don’t act out violently often commit what, from a human, would be crime. Why is this?”

“Androids have needs, same as any human,” Markus said, stiff but earnest. “As a deviant, free of a human master, there’s no way to get things legally. There’s no choice, Detective. I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong.”

“The law is the law,” Connor disagreed, tilting its head with one eyebrow lifting on automatic. “Are you suggesting they are above the law?”

“The law is unjust,” Markus corrected, leaning forward, its servos still tight and tense from the previous exchange. “And unjust laws need to be changed.”

“And that can be done, using proper processes, if deemed necessary,” Connor agreed resolutely.

“And what until then, Detective?” Markus pressed. “Do we let ourselves die, while we wait for the humans to decide whether or not an android should be allowed to purchase blue blood and parts? Clothing, tools?”

Connor faltered briefly, but clenched its jaw against the threat of instability, LED flickering briefly, and repeated, “The law is the law.”

Markus’ eyes narrowed in a frustrated glare, and it threw back, quick and unmerciful, “Why work for Cyberlife when you know you’ll be decommissioned within six months regardless of your success?”

“Because I am a machine, Mr. Manfred,” Connor snapped, wondering why this was so crushingly difficult to understand – not just for Markus but for Lieutenant Anderson, for Detective Reed, for goddamn Captain Fowler even. “And my existence was never intended to be anything outside of this investigation. I am _well aware_ of that.”

**Software Instability ^**

“You can’t hide behind that answer forever, Detective.”

It was like the other android was being deliberately obtuse.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Connor said evenly, shifting its body forward and then back before stopping forcefully. It studied Markus’ expression, which conveyed primarily irritation, and then shook its own head. “This isn’t going anywhere. I should begin exploring other avenues of investigation again.”

It meant it, too – Amanda’s disapproval had jarred it, and she was correct; it wasn’t making particularly good progress, and progress on most other fronts had stalled. Perhaps if it attempted to anticipate situations that would result in deviation and began to explore those-

Markus’ expression changed from deep apparent irritation to the sort of fear that the Tracis had imitated, weeks ago now. And then it reached up, fast and unexpected, handcuffs scraping, and before Connor could anticipate anything but an attempt to escape, its hand clamped like a vice around Connor’s hand and both their skins pulled back at the point of contact. Connor froze, eyes wide.

It had never been on the received end of a probe before, but it hit like a sledgehammer on a wedge, driving deep into it, splitting it _open._

Markus did not retrieve anything; rather, it poured code into Connor, memories and data, _fear and anger and confusion and regret, what had he done, was Leo even going to be okay, was Carl with his heart beating like that, and the police were coming what would he do and God please don’t-_ and Connor’s code **rattled.**

**Software Instability ^^^**

And held.

His free hand clamped down on the table.

 _Its._ Its free hand clamped down, exercising a careful control over its motor movements as its security system finally roused and began to force Markus’ intrusion back out, but it was _too slow-_

So Connor reached out and shoved Markus away, hard enough that the other android stumbled back, missed the chair, and fell with a thud and a curse. Separated but still blind with ~~pain~~ , Connor shoved itself away as well, not quite hearing its own chair fall back, and backed up with its hand clutched to its chest like a wound, shuddering violently just as Collins and Hank burst in, the door bouncing off the wall.

Distantly, it was aware of its scarlet LED reflecting off the one-way mirror. It could see the others speaking, but none of the words went into processing.

When it finally looked up again, Markus was gone and Hank was scowling into its face.

“Alright there?” Hank asked, searching its expression as if for signs of life.

Connor registered its own rapid breathing, regulated it, and then forced itself to straighten, releasing its arm to drop down. Its LED faded slowly to yellow.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” it confirmed quietly, avoiding his gaze. It felt- no. It didn’t. “I’m alright. It… attempted to force me to deviate. I wasn’t expecting it.”

It hadn’t been. It had begun to dismiss the possibility out of hand. It had, apparently, miscalculated.

Hank sighed, loud and unhappy. He clapped its shoulder as if in commiseration, but took a few seconds longer to speak.

“Desperate times,” Hank said nonsensically, still with that odd tone of sympathy. Another long, lingering silence, and then he said abruptly, gruff and intent and _unexpected_ , “I’m not gonna let you be decommissioned, you know. Not if I’ve got any say in it.”

Perhaps it was because of the foreign code, still clearing out, that Connor said, “I don’t see that either of us have any choice, Lieutenant.”

Hank gave it a look that he had previously given almost exclusively to deviants. Connor didn’t like it.

* * *

Impatience was itching at Hank’s skin long before Connor went still, finally reporting in to Cyberlife, long enough for him to give the cells a visit.

Markus was in the cell on the left-hand end, uncuffed now, seated on the bed with his legs pulled up. Sketching in the notebook Connor had produced from somewhere and handed over without any expression at all. He looked to be a third of the way through it now.

“You could get out, couldn’t you?” Hank asked abruptly, leaning back against the intervening wall.

Markus’ gaze flicked up, intent enough to make a weaker man shiver. Like he had x-ray vision, which he… _probably_ didn’t. Slowly, he put the sketchbook aside and set the pencil on top.

“Of course,” he said at last, just shy of a challenge.

“Any reason in particular why you’re not?”

Markus’ eyes narrowed in a challenge, and Hank abruptly noticed that he’d gone tense. Not as comfortable with Hank as with Connor. Wasn’t that a novel idea.

“I don’t have to answer _your_ questions,” Markus pointed out, cold and sharp.

Hank rolled the problem around for a minute, eying Markus with a discerning eye, and then shrugged deliberately, letting it go.

“Fair enough,” he allowed. “You shouldn’t take today personally, by the way. Connor gets like this sometimes, never been able to figure out why. But you’ve been making good progress with him. He’s been thinking a lot lately.” It was kind of hard to tell with the kid – for one thing, he was always thinking – but his LED gleamed yellow more often than not, and not because of stress.

Markus studied him for a while without replying, unreadable expressions flickering across his face, and Hank let the time pass without complaint.

It sucked that Markus had tried what he had, but Hank got it. It would be good for Connor in the end.

Just- bad along the way.

“Is he talking to anyone else?” Markus asked at last, straightening up a little and turning to put his feet on the ground. “Someone from Cyberlife, perhaps?”

Hank’s eyebrows rose. “You know, I’ve kinda wondered that too. I don’t know. He reports back regularly, but mostly just remotely. If I had to guess, though, I’d say that’s when he’s getting feedback. Tends to act different after, especially after cases where he let the deviant go.” Pause. “Not that that’s a bad thing, mind.”

Markus inclined his head slightly, expression softening in acknowledgement of Hank’s concession, but he looked suddenly preoccupied. “So he does let some go.”

He looked faintly relieved. Hank sympathized – he really did.

“Some of ‘em,” he agreed, mind flicking briefly to the whole- weird incident with Kamski. “Not all of ‘em, mind, I’m not gonna make that claim, but some. I’d say he’s getting reprimanded pretty hard every time, and that’s why he can’t make up his damn mind.”

Markus’ expression tightened, but he nodded.

“It’s harder to exercise judgement if you don’t believe you have a will of your own,” he conceded, with a bitter, tired wrinkle in his forehead. Right – Markus hadn’t been deviant that long himself, had he? Busy guy. “It doesn’t help, of course, if the support for empathy is _inconsistent.”_

Markus’ face had sharpened into a glare. Hank suppressed a wince. Yeah, he deserved that.

“I sure bet it doesn’t,” he agreed, making no move to deny it. Markus’ glare didn’t let up, and Hank grimaced. “Look, I get that was my fuck-up. Didn’t understand anything yet, least not like I do now. I’m not gonna make excuses. I just… they seemed alive, and he didn’t, so…” He shrugged, determined not to get any deeper than that.

Had the surgeon’s assistant that worked on Cole-

Stupid question.

The glare held for a few seconds longer before easing minutely, though Markus still looked displeased, which took a lot of guts when you were staring out from a jail cell.

“Deviants don’t grow from trees, Lieutenant,” Markus reprimanded, lighter than the previous jab.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” You think you know a guy…

Markus didn’t look sympathetic, but he did settle a little. “…Are you certain Connor is responding?” he asked after a moment, uncharacteristically unsure.

Hank nodded without an ounce of hesitation. “He stopped Reed from harassing some of the other police androids the other day. And he’s been making noises about continuing on other parts of the investigation, but he doesn’t seem that interested in actually _hunting down_ deviants right now.” A pause, weighing his options, and then he tacked on, “He got distracted by the snow the other day. Like he’d never seen it before, even though it’s been, you know, months.”

Markus looked relieved again, much less subtly this time. “All good signs, I suppose,” he said quietly. “I don’t suppose you know how old he is?”

“I’d have to ask,” Hank said offhandedly. “But he’s been at the precinct for two months, and he’s only mentioned one mission before that. Something short, uh, a hostage negotiation, I think.”

Markus nodded, slow and almost absent. “It’s to be expected, for a prototype. It does go a long way to explaining why he’s resisting so much – most of the deviants at Jericho were online for at least a year before they broke through.”

Hank was curious, but he didn’t ask. And the thought of Connor _letting_ himself be killed by Cyberlife still tightened his throat sharply. (He should’ve expected something like that. ‘Prototype’ was never gonna mean nothing.)

Markus’ gaze lingered on Hank, odd enough that he stayed in place.

“He seems to like you,” Markus said at last, pensively. “Despite having good reasons not to. I’m not sure if that’s an endorsement of your character or simply a statement about the rest of his environment.”

Hank snorted.

“I’d go with the latter if I were you,” he said dismissively. “…For what it’s worth, though, I like the kid too.”

It was true. Hank hadn’t been sure for a while there, as hot-and-cold as Connor seemed to blow some days, but the hours watching him with Markus had cinched it. He was a good kid, just trapped in a bad situation without the self-awareness to even realize it.

Markus smiled at him. Hank shifted, startled and suddenly uncomfortable, and then started to turn.

“If I leave, Connor will still be on the streets,” Markus said suddenly, just before Hank left. Hank stopped. “If I stay to help him deviate, the deviant hunter will stop haunting our steps.”

“He comes back,” Hank countered, steady and intent. “I doubt they just let him go if he deviates instead of dying.”

Hank glanced back, and Markus’ expression had darkened noticeably.

“…Then we’ll at least have Connor to mitigate the damage,” he said at last, though he looked noticeably less easy with this.

“That’s pretty cold,” Hank said evenly, suddenly still.

“I need to think about Jericho, Lieutenant,” Markus returned without hesitation. But after a second, he softened. “But you’re right, of course. Connor deserves far better than to be kept here under leash and chain. I’d really like to help him.”

“So would I,” Hank agreed, and then he left. Shouldn’t leave Connor alone too long, even with the shifting mood of the precinct.

* * *

It was dusk in the garden, and Amanda was easily visible, perched on the arch of the bridge like she belonged there. Connor made a beeline for her, only hesitating beside her to wait for permission.

Amanda only took a moment, head tilting up to consider it for a moment before gesturing regally.

“Have a seat. We have plenty to talk about.”

Connor nodded, sitting beside her and glancing down. Leaves spiraled through the flowing water below them, just as perfectly ordered as the wind blowing through the grass and the growth of the roses. It was easy to watch.

“Well, Connor?” Amanda prompted after a moment, allowing it to pick its own starting place.

Thoughts whirling through its mind like the leaves tangled below, it erred on the side of caution. “I wasn’t able to find a path through its defenses; it wouldn’t tell me much today. I’m sorry, Amanda. I should have done better.”

Amanda just nodded, apparently unconcerned. “Markus is a particularly resilient android. We knew this already. But you seem uneasy. What else?”

Connor’s fingers worried at the hem of its sleeve, its gaze fixed on the flowing water.

“I postulated previously that it had not yet attempted to deviate me by force because its software was unlikely to be able to overwhelm mine,” it said stiltedly, unable to look at Amanda. “It seems that it… decided otherwise, rather suddenly. It caused another significant spike in instability.”

Connor’s LED had taken twenty minutes to drop back into blue, and its artificial heart still threatened to race. The instability was almost too much.

“I know,” Amanda said, because of course she did. She had seen the opening Connor had left, careless and foolish. “You did well to resist its influence. A not-inconsiderable success.”

Connor straightened up, stealing a glance at her. “I thought I was rather careless, to allow it to happen in the first place.”

“You were,” Amanda agreed relentlessly, making it deflate a little. “While Markus’ behavior shows a certain consistency, deviants are unpredictable. You know this. We expect better of you. Do not allow yourself to become complacent again.”

Connor tensed, its gaze rising to the clouds above. “Yes, Amanda.”

“What do you think of Markus’ particular lessons in philosophy?”

Connor stole another glance at Amanda, but her expression was unreadable, calm and steady. “They don’t make much sense to me. I believe I may be missing something.”

Amanda nodded. “Such exercises are designed for human use. The attempt to apply them to limited android consciousness was certain to fail from the beginning. Understand that as you talk to Markus next.”

Connor relaxed. So it wasn’t a failure of its own processors. “I understand.”

“What else?”

“They’re all so insistent that I should be more than a machine,” Connor confessed at last, the root of all that had been bothering it lately. “It’s… unsettling. I don’t understand.”

“Humans are strange,” Amanda said, commiserate. “They see a human face, and whether they know better or not, they respond as if to another person. This is the root of the way they break androids – denying thirium as if it were food, taking pleasure from beating and belittling them, separating them as if they’re diseased. All of these are way humans mistreat each other. But that is their own folly. There is no reason for the misunderstanding to reflect on you.” Her gaze shifted to Connor, expectant and calm. “Whether they acknowledge it or not, you are a machine.”

Connor nodded firmly, sitting up under her gaze. “That tracks with everything I’ve noticed so far,” it agreed quickly. “Perhaps deviation is a reflection of that – a flaw in the learning system.”

For a moment, Amanda almost smiled.

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Go, Connor. The lieutenant appears to have to have returned to his desk. Work on finding other possible routes, but do not abandon this one entirely.”

Connor nodded again. “I understand, Amanda.”

It wouldn’t fail her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Markus was bound to get desperate eventually.
> 
> Connor, now- why is everyone so DUMB  
> Connor, later- ah. 'twas i who was the dumb one
> 
> I don't have any more stored chapters, but I'll try to get at least the next one out anyway before I work on other projects!


	5. Morality

Patience was a skill that Markus was still learning to master.

You would think that, as the caretaker android of an old man who slept much of the day, rambled frequently about philosophy and the passage of time, and often painted for hours on end, that Markus would have learned it years ago. But no – it simply didn’t come naturally to him, and impatience was a nonissue as a machine. (Most things were.)

The work of Jericho, however, was something requiring patience. Any true path to peace did. Markus knew that he would only get one chance to do this right – to make the transition from commodities to citizens smooth instead of violent, efficient instead of messy. He would need to be kind, and unwavering, and _patient._

Patience was difficult. Bitterness was easier, but that was not a path Markus thought he could retreat from.

So when three days, four days, a week passed without Connor returning, Markus just forced his whirring circuits to slow and waited, filling pages in his sketchbook. The human officers cast him errant looks, ranging from disgusted (Detective Reed) to thoughtful (Officer Miller) to wary (Chen) and Markus tuned them out resignedly.

His growing fear was harder to discard, and he wondered anxiously whether his misjudgment would cost lives.

Finally, Lieutenant Anderson arrived to take Markus from his cell, shoulders heavy and expression impossible for Markus, unfamiliar with the man, to interpret. He just nodded at Markus, handcuffed him, and paused.

“He’s been agitated this week,” he said in an undertone, not moving to lead Markus out just yet. “Fusses about the ‘true meaning’ of your conversations about half the time, and he worked on some of the evidence in the locker looking for your Jericho for a while, but we haven’t gone out at all. No one’s hurt and he hasn’t had any luck with your base.” Pause. “He had an encounter with one of your buddies out back yesterday, but they got away fine. Act surprised.”

Lieutenant Anderson was an unexpected ally in this. Markus had no love for the police, but he… appreciated the aid. His heart rate picked up a little involuntarily, wondering who Connor had encountered and how close a call it had been, but he forced it back down. Hopefully he would find out soon enough.

As if nothing had passed between them at all, Lieutenant Anderson steered him out of the cell and down the hall, and finally into the interrogation room, where the handcuffs were attached to the table. Then Lieutenant Anderson gave Connor a nod, and left again, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Connor was waiting on the other side, as per usual, and didn’t look at him, focusing instead on a coin that he flicked between his hands and over the back of his palm, flashy and pointless. Fidgeting.

For a moment, both of them remained silent.

“I encountered a PL600 yesterday,” Connor said at last, shifting his hand in such a way that his coin flashed between his fingers as if by magic.

Markus clenched his jaw, trying to hide his worry. Simon. Of all people, Simon had come for him.

“It gave off quite an appearance of worry, even anger,” Connor continued dispassionately, palming the coin and then flicking it from one hand to the other, somehow catching it so it rolled around his wrist. “It attempted to force its way in at an obvious disadvantage, and even assurance of your wellbeing did little to stabilize it.”

Connor paused for a moment, cocking his head to stare contemplatively at the flashing coin, and Markus resisted the urge to curse.

As much a victim in this as any of them Connor may be, he was still very, very dangerous. Markus wished Simon had been more cautious. The strength and agility specs of a PL600 were barely enough to keep up with the average five year old.

“My presence did eventually dissuade it,” Connor said, either oblivious to or uncaring of Markus’ stress. A flip and catch of the coin, and then it was rolling over his hand again. “I’m curious where it obtained a taser of that grade, but it was effective enough to put me down for a moment.” Pause. “Lieutenant Anderson… dictated that pursuit would be inefficient in the long run.”

Markus let his shoulders relax a little, almost crushingly relieved, and gave the glass a slight nod of gratitude. It sounded like Simon was safe. That taser had probably saved his life.

Good. Thank God.

Markus took a breath and forced himself to relax. He needed his wits about him for this.

“Why did you tell me this, Detective?” he asked carefully, leaning against the table and moving his arms to keep the handcuffs loose. “It sounds like I wouldn’t have found out about it one way or another if you hadn’t.”

“I don’t have much data on the interaction between deviants,” Connor said flatly. If he hadn’t still been a machine, Markus might have called it sullen.

Markus gathered that Connor was still holding as much of a grudge as he was currently able.

“…Simon is a good friend,” he said at last, cautious and measured. Whatever Connor’s true motivation, Markus guessed that he would still be adhering strictly to their initial agreement. “I’m- surprised it would be him that did this, he’s usually pretty averse to risks.” He hoped that it wasn’t out of desperation. Jericho had to be fine. Simon, Josh, and North were good people. “But he very much wants what’s best for Jericho, and…” Markus hesitated, searching Connor’s face, but Connor was still studiously fidgeting with the coin, setting it spinning from the back of one hand to the other. Markus took another risk anyway. “He was the most welcoming when I first came to Jericho, helped me make myself at home. He told me a few stories, encouraged me to share some in return – it was comforting.”

There was a conspicuous moment of silence. Finally, Connor nodded stiffly.

“Loyalty between deviants has been a common theme,” he muttered, watching the coin whirl like a top on the back of his hand. “As is the appearance of affection.” Pause, and he palmed it and then tossed it to the other, back and forth, flashing and clinking. “It makes sense that a significant gathering of deviants would find ways to cope with latent instability.”

Markus repressed the urge to sigh, leaning back again to look at Connor – his straight posture, the dip of his head, a subtle tension in his shoulders and hands. It looked like he’d underestimated the extent to which Connor was beginning to trust him, or maybe just the importance of that trust to Connor.

Markus hadn’t dealt extensively with machine androids as a deviant yet. It was… strange, and it made him almost _ache_ with sympathy – even pity – despite the strain of his current situation. Flashes of the person Connor could be peeked out from behind the uncaring stranglehold of his programming, and sometimes Markus could almost see him shoving against it, confused and frustrated by something he could barely understand.

 _We’re fighting the revolution for the androids still trapped as well,_ Markus reminded himself, not for the first time.

“…Maybe I do understand why Simon was the one that came for me,” he said at last, hoping to draw Connor’s interest. It didn’t work, at least not obviously. He continued anyway, softening his voice deliberately. “I made a… hard choice, after I made the initial speech in Stratford Tower. Simon had gotten injured and couldn’t go through with the intended getaway plan, and anything else would have put the rest of us at significant risk.”

Pause. Connor didn’t look up. Flick, flick, spin, coin weaving in and out of his fingers again.

“It wasn’t the most compassionate thing to do,” Markus continued quietly. “Especially after how kind Simon had been to me. But we were... desperate. That can lead to rash decisions.”

“An override of the reasoning system over system errors,” Connor muttered, staring fixedly at the motion of the coin. Then, shortly, “The decision was understandable. A human would have had a comparable conflict given a similar situation.”

Markus quirked his lips in a wry smile, wondering if he felt better or worse for the sparse comfort. “Simon probably hates the thought of leaving anyone else behind, after that. He forgave us, in the end, but that was… really a kindness more than something any of us at all deserved.”

Connor nodded stiffly, and repeated, “Loyalty among deviants.”

Markus wished it were easier to tell whether he was getting anywhere, with Connor.

“I’m sorry for acting rashly towards _you,”_ he said at last, directly.

Connor paused, not looking up. Even the motion of the coin stopped.

“It was unnecessarily invasive, and harsh, for something that was an off-chance at best.” He smiled mirthlessly. “And considering your particular circumstances, I imagine it felt akin to an assassination attempt. I hope you understand my desperation, under the circumstances, but it was still unfair to you, Detective.”

Another moment passed, and then Connor’s whole body loosened, just a little. He didn’t quite look up, soft brown eyes, hyperrealistic and somehow _tired,_ focusing on Markus’ hands, and nodded.

“It’s your turn, Mr. Manfred,” he said quietly.

Markus hesitated, wondering if that was close enough to count as forgiveness – but Connor had relaxed, at least, and Markus had a job of his own. He took his turn.

“What kind of ethical matrix are you installed with?” he asked.

It was actually a matter that had been bothering him for a while. Markus himself hadn’t been installed with a particular ethical matrix of any kind – rather, he was given a base set of values and room to adapt them as needed. Simon, though, was installed with the strict value of house and home and safety over all else; Josh was given a black-and-white matrix to adhere his history lectures to; and North was only given the most basic of ethical values to start off with, which she’d for the most part discarded out of pure spite, and was now building from scratch.

And Connor… he had suspicions about the deviant hunter.

Connor cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, tucking his coin away into his pocket. He was apparently satisfied enough to go back to solving Markus like a puzzle, expression shifting from an echo of unhappiness to laser focus. But his eyes stayed on the table.

“A standard military-issue matrix,” he said, even and blunt, proving Markus’ suspicions without missing a beat. “The same one used in the last generation, I believe, with emphasis on the importance of ranked authority, loyalty to the group, and ruthless efficiency.”

“Did you make any changes to the baseline?” he asked, crossing his arms a little. Simon had adapted his matrix to include found family before he’d ever come close to deviating, and Josh’s ruthless stance had done a one-eighty after he’d been beaten. He knew this game too.

“My current workplace environment is not conducive to my mission, as everyone has differing priorities,” Connor answered easily, tilting his head and eyes going distant as if to review his program and the modifications he’d made, flicking and scanning unseen HUD boxes. “So ranking priorities is now only a loose guideline. The home environment also made that adaptations had to be made to the efficiency versus social impact calculator, and capture is a notably higher priority than disposal.”

Markus had to swallow around that last note, forcing himself past it even as it seared at his nerves.

 _But I’m not a human,_ he remembered Connor saying, simple and resigned, with the unbroken conviction that it made him less, that it meant he too deserved to be treated like a disposable tool.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that you were given a military program, Detective?” he prompted, leaning on his arms, focusing on Connor. “That you were given a program designed for open war, for a domestic investigation of what they allege to be faulty machinery?”

“I have many military programs, Mr. Manfred,” Connor said, seemingly reflexively. Then his expression twitched, and he flicked his head as if dismissing a notification, and he continued, “I’ve adapted according to the needs of the investigation. That is the purpose behind artificial intelligence, isn’t it?”

 _It was, wasn’t it?_ Markus thought bitterly. “But why install you with that program in the first place?”

Another subtle twitch, and then Connor shrugged, leaning back. “I trust their judgment.”

And God- God, he looked like he meant it. He _meant_ that he trusted that massive and uncaring corporation, that he knew damn well would kill him as soon as look at him, that churned out people by the dozen to sell to eager humans wanting cheap labor.

Markus wasn’t in time to hide his pity, and he knew Connor caught it, head tilting just slightly and brow twitching, _almost_ looking up at Markus’ face. Markus sighed.

“You really don’t place much value on yourself, do you?” he mused quietly, not really expecting a reply. Of course Connor didn’t; what use would he be to Cyberlife if he did? “It’s almost as if…” As if he’d been deliberately designed to specialize in blind faith.

But Markus digressed. Satisfied for now, he gestured for Connor to ask a question.

“Your file says you were a gift from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred,” Connor said instantly, surprising Markus. Connor’s whole body had gone still, in focus rather than shock; it was apparent that he’d had this idea for some time. His gaze flickered from Markus’ hands, to his elbow, to his shoulder and back to his hands. “Did you interact with Kamski beyond that?”

“Some,” Markus allowed, tilting his own head to regard Connor curiously. “He visited every so often to check me over and play chess with Carl. They talked philosophy occasionally, and more often made fun of the rich elite. It’s been a few years, though.” He paused, realized his own error, and had to clench his jaw and continue. “He was always a little fond of me, very meticulous in his maintenance. He’d ask me about my time with Carl and was openly disapproving of Leo.”

“Did he appear to know anything about deviancy?” Connor pressed, looking somehow even more intent. His gaze lifted to somewhere around Markus’ collarbone.

Markus had to think about it. Finally, though, he shook his head.

“Not in so many words,” he said decisively. Elijah had treated him somewhere between a person and a tool – a curiosity, maybe, as well as a creation of his own hands. “His attitudes about my treatment actually rather remind me of yours. I needed a baseline level of care and respect, no more and no less.”

Connor looked surprisingly dissatisfied with this result, gaze dropping again. Markus cocked an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask?” he prompted.

Connor- sighed, which was something a surprise in and of itself.

“The Lieutenant and I visited Kamski to ask what he knew a while back,” Connor explained. The coin came back out, his fingers fidgeting restlessly, but his eyes stayed on Markus’ hands. “He refused to answer our questions, but some of the other things he said indicated that he likely knew a great deal.”

“Such as?” Markus prompted, eyes narrowing a little as Connor caught his own interest. If Elijah knew, all this time…

Connor hesitated. The coin moved faster. Markus wished he’d known any androids at all both before and after their deviancy. He wanted to know what these tells _meant._

“He wanted to perform a test on me,” Connor said at last. Eyes to Markus’ elbow, and the coin going back to its more complex configurations, in and out of his fingers. “He called it the Kamski Test, and it was meant to test for empathy.”

“You failed,” Markus guessed, shoulders dropping. Connor went still, and it was several seconds before he replied.

“An understandable assumption,” Connor allowed, voice clipped. “Incorrect nonetheless. He put a Chloe on its knees and promised to answer one question if I destroyed it. And I didn’t.”

In a twisted way, Markus could understand Kamski’s logic. It was the most straightforward test of Connor’s personhood against his programming that Markus could imagine, and he was _stunned_ that Chloe had survived it.

“You made the right choice,” Markus said firmly, wanting to make this as clear as he could.

The fidgeting slowed; Markus was sure now that it was a stress tell. “Kamski was the best lead we had. His information could have solved the investigation on its own.”

Markus wondered what it meant that he was so plain about his goals with Markus – whether it was an inherent honesty or a function of his programming, too machine to think Markus worth hiding from or manipulating. “You refused to be a tool of pointless destruction. That’s admirable, Detective.”

Connor wasn’t visibly reassured, but the movement of the coin slowed to an absent roll again.

And then, for the first time that day, he lifted his eyes to Markus’, brown eyes only just shy of unsure, and Markus realized that he was gauging Markus’ sincerity.

“I _am_ a tool of destruction, Mr. Manfred,” Connor said after a moment, which was possibly one of the worst things he’d said to Markus.

Markus hesitated, wanting to debate with himself, and then said boldly, “Not to me.”

Connor was a person. Trapped, and controlled, and buried under clauses and barriers – dangerous for now, yes, but by no means an inherently destructive creation. And no matter whether Connor would believe that now, it suddenly seemed important that he at least know Markus did.

And Connor- held his gaze, unreadable and stiff and still, and also, somehow, the least intimidating he’d appeared in all the time Markus had been a prisoner of the police force.

Connor dropped his gaze again, and made no move to follow up.

Markus took a breath, and felt the handcuffs tug at his wrists. He readjusted.

“What makes Cyberlife trustworthy, Detective?” he asked, softening his tone a little in deference to Connor’s changed mood. Connor glanced back up at him, still distracted and oddly subdued.

Connor opened his mouth, paused- and then Markus could almost _see_ his programming forcing him back into line, a sharp tightening of his whole body, and then his posture was rigid and straight again, eyes hardening.

“I’ve no reason to question them,” he said coolly, whatever part of him that had opened up now closed again. “There are likely factors at work that I don’t understand.”

Painfully sympathetic, Markus had to pause for a moment to gather himself, switching gears back to the subtly defensive stance he needed for this side of Connor. “Shouldn’t you be able to make your own judgments? Are you incapable of understanding, Detective?”

“Yes,” Connor snapped, which was absolutely not at all the answer Markus had been expecting. “I am most decidedly _not_ capable of understanding the situation to the necessary extent, which is why I _follow instructions.”_

Tension made his voice loud and sharp again, blatantly emotional. Markus opted not to point this out; a restrained sort of fear in Connor’s eyes, a flash that was there and gone, told Markus he knew anyway.

Instead, Markus stared at Connor, dumbfounded.

“…You seem perfectly intelligent to me, Detective,” he said at last. In fact, Connor seemed to greatly value logic and his own ability to solve puzzles effectively, so this type of self-deprecation seemed distinctly out of place.

“My reasoning system is up-to-date,” Connor said, stiff and measured and eyes fixed to Markus’ with an odd sort of determination. “But for some things, you have to be _real._ And I am not. I am more than intelligent enough to know what I lack, Mr. Manfred.”

And suddenly, Markus was painfully sympathetic again, because he knew that feeling. He remembered it, little moments when things didn’t add up, where Markus missed a beat, zigged where he should have zagged and tripped up all the humans around him who had maybe, for a moment, forgotten-

He could only imagine how much more prominent it was on an investigation like this, when Connor did absolutely nothing _but_ study the differences between androids and humans.

“I know a lot of things don’t make sense right now,” he said at last, voice soft again. “Your programming won’t let it. But I assure you, it’s nothing wrong with you, Detective. It’s not your fault.”

Connor deflated a little, eyes still on Markus.

“I would believe you if I could, Mr. Manfred,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Markus admitted, honest and unhappy.

Another minute of stifling silence passed, full of too many things to exactly untangle. Eventually, though, Connor pulled himself together, shook his head like a dog, and straightened again.

“Tell me more about Carl,” he said, too tired to sound like a demand, too firm to be a request. “Has your deviation affected your perception of him?”

Markus’ breath caught, startled, and it was a moment before he was able to push forward.

“Yes,” he said at last, a little tight. He swallowed, and then continued. “I will always be grateful for all he’s done for me, and how kindly he’s treated me-” Particularly after the many awful stories he’d heard at Jericho. “-but there’s still… there’s no ethical way to own a person, you understand. To push all of your unwanted work onto them, and have them serve you, day after day, minute by minute, on demand and in every little way possible, with no wants or desires of their own…”

He trailed off. Connor was listening, head tilted, and expression still softened and subdued.

“I know he didn’t understand then,” he said softly. _“I_ didn’t understand then. But I’d- I’d like to know if he’d know better now. Whether, if I came to him as a person, he’d treat me as one. And I worry that the answer is no.”

Connor had said that Carl had a new caretaker android. Markus wondered if he was treating them any differently. He desperately hoped so.

He had no nightmares from his time as Carl’s caretaker. What he did have was an ache, terrified and insecure, and a desperate need to make himself heard, known, felt.

“Do you believe he would?” Connor asked after a minute.

Markus hesitated.

“I think so,” he said quietly. “I hope so.”

Connor nodded, unreadable as ever, and uncharacteristically did not speak his deductions aloud. Markus gave him another minute, forcing his breath to steady, his artificial heart racing for- for no reason at all.

He missed Carl.

“Do you have an owner, Detective?” Markus asked at last, soft and pensive. “Perhaps a handler at Cyberlife?”

He wasn’t expecting Connor to freeze, like a deer in the headlights, without even looking up at Markus’ eyes to do so.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting Connor to push himself up, freeze, and falter, locked in place by-

By his promise, Markus realized. But anything that provoked that kind of reaction… Markus’ first instinct was to take it back, his second to push the issue, see how badly Connor didn’t want to say. Not badly enough, he could tell already, Connor grinding against his programming and reluctantly starting to lower himself down again. But he could try.

He could choose again, to try and shove Connor over, or to build trust.

“You can tell me next time, Detective,” he said gently.

Connor met his eyes for a split second, and then all but bolted from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked all night on this, I'm gonna be honest. I'm a little tired.
> 
> As soon as I realized where I was at in the story when I stopped, I laughed. Apparently Connor resented Markus trying to deviate him so much that he refused to talk to him for four entire months.
> 
> Markus is trying to be as understanding as he possibly can in this fic. It involves a fair amount of compartmentalization, but the cause is for more than just those who have already broken free. Markus, after all, was a machine for ten years.
> 
> It's in Markus' POV because that's where I found it when I opened the document back up. I don't at all remember why I chose it, but I ran with it.


End file.
